is about to nudge its way into life, when it’s pausing on the border between silence and being, it’s as if the whole body has grown antennae. Rumi writes, “You’re in the body like a plant is solid on the ground / yet you’re the wind.” He’s speaking of spiritual ecstasy, but I think inspiration is just another form of that. As the poem starts to take shape, before you put the pen to the page or your fingers on the keys, light particularizes around you. You notice how it silvers each of the cat’s whiskers, how it gracefully slides around the corners of the old stove, how it ignites the green in the moss around the pond. The same wind has been blowing all week but suddenly you sense it’s trying to get a word in and the aspen leaves are ready to reply. You know this is not simply your imagination pushing you into anthropomorphic inventions. You’re getting in touch with what’s really out there. Warm-blooded and on the edge, something is shaping itself into the bones and sinews of nouns, the muscles of verbs, as if you the writer were of minor importance, as if you must give yourself up, move aside for this new creature to show itself, for it to come tentatively into the light cast by your mind, your heart, your strange imaginings. The poem steps close to you. It shows its wild face.
— from the Margaret Laurence Lecture, 2013
“What a joy to have a volume of selected poems by this marvellous Canadian poet, storyteller, truth-teller, visionary.”
—Ursula LeGuin, June 3rd, 2007 writing on The Blue Hour of the Day, from The New York Times Book Review
“Crozier writes of a world of imperfection, clumsiness, violence, betrayal, pain, and in spite of everything, delight and love….Always accessible, Crozier speaks a language we understand, but she uses it to tell us things we don’t.”
“Lorna Crozier’s The Blue Hour of the Day... reads like one long autobiographical poem of astonishing coherence and beauty, and so powerful that, after I'd closed the book, I found that I'd unwittingly learnt several of the lines by heart.”
—Alberto Manguel, November 30, 2007, from The London Times Literary Supplement
Crozier's “Carrots” named one of Canada's Most Memorable Poems by Literary Review of Canada